


All Stories End

by liptonrm



Series: Burn My Sins Away [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Weasley Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liptonrm/pseuds/liptonrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story may by over but life won't stop moving forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Stories End

Ron and Hermione fucked for the first time the night of Harry's funeral.

Afterwards they laid there, backs to each other, the rumble of mourners and friends filtering up through the draughty passages of the Burrow. Ron curled in on himself, pulling away from the searing heat of Hermione's back, the euphoria of the preceding minutes slipping away before he even realized that he could hold on to it, if he so desired.

Ron didn't move when Hermione got up. The bed shifted and the floorboards creaked as she stood up and he laid there, staring at the scars on his arms. The rustle of robes being readjusted and the soft squeak of the door opening and closing slipped past him unheard.

The lamp fluttered at the doors closing causing shadows to leap and scamper down his arms. He stayed there, his eyes tracing patterns on his skin, not thinking about before or after or anything in between.

Within a month they were sharing a flat off of Diagon.

~~~

Hermione studied. She would return to their flat at the end of the day full of stories and ideas, her eyes bright and alive. She would bustle around the kitchen while Ron cut vegetables and tell stories of this professor or that student. Oxford suited her.

Somehow Ron found himself working at the Ministry. He wasn't quite sure what his job was and more days than not he didn't even bother showing up to sit in his empty, windowless office. Apparently war heroes got special provisions because the galleons never stopped coming.

Ron made a great show at normalcy. He knew he should carry on and do all the little things but some days he would stand in front of the fireplace, floo powder in hand, and realize he didn't have it in him to leave. Those were they days he would spend in front of the wireless with a vacant face. Other days he would make it through the floo only to have his feet lead him upstairs and out the Ministry's door. Those were the days when he wandered around Muggle London, part of the great throng of humanity, wizarding robes notwithstanding.

The details changed but all the days were the same. Either way he was always back to the flat before Hermione and always had dinner going. She would arrive and talk and talk and as long as he was chopping or stirring he never had to reply.

There were some nights when the kitchen would still and he would look up to see her staring at him, her heart in her eyes. "Are you happy, Ron?" she would always ask, her voice achingly vulnerable. He would always drop his knife or spoon or wand and go to stand in front of her.

He would take her hand, look deep into her eyes and smile and say, "Of course I am. I love you." Tears would seep down Hermione's face and they would kiss. The kisses were salty and sweet and desperate and neither of them could ever stop themselves with just one. They would cling to each other and kiss and kiss and soon dinner would be completely forgotten.

Later Hermione would cling to him in her sleep and Ron would stare at the patterns the street lamps made on the ceiling.

~~~

The sky was grey and the feel of the air made Ron think of the Great Hall dressed for Halloween and of leaves crackling underfoot on the Hogsmeade path.

"Ron!" a voice called out and he had his back pressed against a wall, a hand on his wand, before he realized who had shouted at him.

Seamus's broad, kind face was just as Ron remembered it. If his eyes sparkled a little less and his face was worn by stress more than laughter it didn't really bear noticing. No one was as bright as he had been, once upon a time.

He came at Ron like a force of nature and before Ron knew it he was enveloped in an embrace that smelled of ozone with a firewhiskey chaser.

"It's fantastic running into you like this, mate," Seamus gushed as he pulled away, his brogue especially thick. "Here I was at loose ends after reporting to His Nibs over at the Ministry and thinking how brilliant it would be to grab a pint with one of the old Hogwarts chums and then 'whoosh' there you were. Maybe I should've paid more attention in that Trelawney bat's class, eh?" Ron couldn't help but smile when faced with the grin and wink that capped the verbal eruption.

"Seamus, mate, a pint sounds like a bloody fantastic idea," Ron readily agreed, his eyes still crinkled with mirth.

"Brilliant, I know just the place." Seamus grabbed his hand and disapparated them both away with no regard for the muggle-crowded streets.

They appeared somewhere completely Unchartable, moors stretching to every horizon. The sun had just set and everything was colored the same shade of washed out grey, even the ratty little shed hunkering before them. It was the only building in sight, ramshackle and crotchety with smoke rising from an incongruous chimney in its middle.

"Best spirits in all the Isles," Seamus said with a dramatic flourish and pushed him through the misshapen door.

An hour and half a bottle of firewhisky later Ron was obliged to concede the point. He happily munched on some of the finest fish 'n chips he'd ever eaten and enjoyed the way everything had become pleasantly blurry. The pub itself was comfortably large on the inside, dark and dingy no matter how high the lamps were set with a low hanging cloud of smoke that clung to the ceiling and a surly barkeep who Ron was sure had troll blood in him somewhere.

" -and that's why the Chudley Cannons'll never hold a candle to the Dublin Daredevils, no matter how well they might've played in their last few games." Seamus glared blearily across the table and stabbed his finger into his stew for emphasis.

"Was someone making a point 'cause all I heard was somebody's team giving up the ghost." Ron was smug as only the long-disappointed yet loyal fan could be.

"Shove off," Seamus grumbled and took another shot of whiskey. "S'just a shame Harry never got to see the Cannons make good."

Ron flinched, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. Seamus blinked, his mouth flapping as if he'd just realized he'd said the last bit out loud.

"Ron, I'm sorry, I never should've-" Seamus flailed, his eyes wide and a deep blush creeping up his neck..

Ron poured himself another shot and threw it back, the liquor a comfortable numbing burn.

"Nah, forget it." Ron waved his hand distractedly. "S'all right."

Seamus nodded and the moment passed. The night went by in a blur of liquor and tobacco smoke. Ron was vaguely conscious of climbing on the table and singing Gryffindor House songs as Seamus banged an accompaniment but that was the last thing he could recall. He never was completely sure just how it was he got back home.

The next thing he knew he was waking up in a heap on the sofa in his front room, his mouth dry and his head pounding. There was something sticky on his face and he was fairly certain one of Hermione's books was wedged in between his ribs.

He opened his eyes, the sun pouring in through a crack in the curtains making him groan. There was a steaming mug on the floor which on closer inspection contained an analgesic potion. Ron silently thanked Hermione's thoughtfulness and drank it down in one long pull, the pounding in his head immediately dulling to a faint ache. Thus fortified Ron picked up the note and squinted at Hermione's scribble. He groaned again and balled up the parchment, throwing it across the room while falling back down onto the sofa. He'd forgotten about lunch with his mum.

~~~

"I'm so glad you had the time to drop by." His mum's voice was cheerful as she directed a banging chorus of pots around the Burrow's claustrophobic kitchen. Ron's head beat a counterpoint to the cacophony and he could feel cold sweat starting to bead on the back of his neck. He gulped noiselessly and hoped that he wasn't any paler than usual.

"I know how busy you've been," His mum blithely continued in seeming unawareness to his agitation as she tasted the sauce. "It's only a shame that Hermione couldn't be here." She wagged an admonishing finger at him, her attention now focused on the chopping board. "You need to take better care of her, she was looking positively gaunt the last time I ran into her." With a flick of her wand the knife stopped chopping and the carrot pieces streamed into the neighboring salad bowl. "There, finished." Another flick had the bowl floating towards him. "Be a dear and set that on the table. Ginny should be here any second."

Ron carefully set the bowl down and took a moment to breathe. He closed his eyes and took one breath after another, willing the pounding in his head to dull to a mild ache. As his heart stilled he could feel the Burrow surrounding him and there was something chilling in its stillness, in the way he could feel the walls rising around him, enclosing him with empty room upon empty room. He stood there transfixed, straining to make out the old rhythms of his childhood but even the ghoul was silent in the attic.

"Hullo Ron." Ginny's cheerful voice broke the spell. She brightly entered the room, shaking some residual ash out of her hair. She came up and gave him a kiss, not seeming to notice his startle.

"It's been too long." She grabbed his hand and before he knew it they were seated at the table. "You know how it is," Ginny continued with a confidential wink. "They have me running everywhere, hardly a minute to myself. One does what one can." She squeezed his hand. "But enough about me, what about you and-"

"Ginny!" Their mum's delighted shriek saved him from having to come up with an appropriate response. There was hugging and laughter and Ron let it soar by him, content to stay still and save his strength for the next round. Soon everyone was seated, steaming plates before them.

"Bon appetit, my dears," His mum said with a bright smile. "I know how fond you are of beef wellington." She winked as she gave him the largest portion. Ron smiled dutifully and took a bite of Percy's favorite dish.

The conversation flitted around, their mum's words rising and falling in twittering arpeggios. She went from Dad's Most Important work at the Ministry (there was even talk of him becoming the next Minister, it was all very exciting) to Bill's kids (Fleur was sure to be making a hash of things and shouldn't she go down and help them out for a little while they must be so tired) To Charlie's legacy (she still got letters from people he had saved or helped or touched in some way) to how Fred and George would never actually grow up (a joke shop was all fine and good at first but they should be employing their talents in more beneficial areas, especially now after all the horridness).

Ginny's voice played an evenly pitched counter point of her accomplishments and challenges. She gushed over helping the War Orphans (they were so sweet and pitiful and it was such a blessing to help them find new homes) to her efforts on behalf of displaced house elves (they're practically like children themselves and such a pest when left to their own devices). Of course there was also the unending frustration of quidditch scouts banging at her door (they just couldn't seem to understand that she had to do something meaningful with her life because that's what Harry would have wanted).

Through it all Ron mechanically chewed on his food, fork moving from plate to mouth automatically as the walls closed in on him. He smiled at all of the appropriate times and even managed a laugh or two as the walls moved in, inch by inch. He had to consciously work at not gasping for breath as the room shrank and the air thickened.

Suddenly Ron reached his limit, bolting up from the table and knocking a cup of pumpkin juice on his robes in the process. "So sorry," he mumbled distractedly as he rubbed at the spreading wet spot. "Lost track of time, have to get back." He pulled out his wand and cleaned everything up before stepping around the table to give his mum a goodbye peck.

"What a shame," his mum replied with a peck of her own. "You and Hermione must come for dinner next Sunday. Everyone will be here and I haven't seen her in ages."

"Of course, we'll be here," he promised without really hearing what she said and turned to Ginny.

"Oh, it's time I was off as well," she said, rising before he could get a word out. "Always so much to do," she added with a smile to their mother and receiving a chuckle and a knowing look in response.

They kissed goodbye and Ginny hooked her arm through Ron's. She bustled him to the fireplace before he could put two coherent thoughts together.

"How are you Ron, really?" She asked once they were alone, dropping his arm in order to look him straight in the eye.

"I'm fine," he said in his most convincing voice, careful to meet her eyes and not flinch at the intensity of her gaze.

She narrowed her eyes and then sighed after a minute passed and he didn't say anything else. She pulled out a pinch of floo powder from the box on the hearth. With her other hand she grabbed one of Ron's and squeezed it. "I want you to be happy." She looked straight at him, her eyes full of pity and some harder to identify emotion. "It's what Harry would have wanted."

He didn't notice Ginny disappear in a puff of flame and sulfur. Every muscle in his body went rigid and it felt as if someone had reached into his chest and started to squeeze. His fists clenched and he could vaguely feel the nails digging into his palms. He hadn't felt this irrationally angry since Fourth Year, not even when he'd killed Draco Malfoy. He wanted to hit something, beat it bloody, feel skin pulp and bones break under his fists. The very idea that she had the gall to think she could tell him what Harry wanted… He snarled and flung the floo powder into the grate with more force then was strictly necessary. His voice was rough as he gritted out the first place he could think of.

He didn't know whether to laugh or scream or cry when he appeared in some stranger's fireplace and was met by the sound of crockery shattering by his head.

~~~

That night Ron dreamed.

_They were in 12 Grimmauld Place. It was dark outside and even though the lamps were lit inside somber shadows filled the corners and menaced the ceilings of the room._

Hermione had a huge tome open on her lap, her eyes tightly focused on the text. Her wayward hair was tied but that didn't stop stray strands from falling in her face and needing to be distractedly swept away. Harry sat motionless, staring into the fire, his face still tired and lined from Dumbledore's funeral. He looked so far away and Ron could feel the old fear that he was moving away from them all and there was nothing they could do to keep him here and safe.

"Fancy a game of chess?" Ron heard his own voice, the false cheeriness he'd brutally injected into it, the way it wavered no matter how hard he tried to keep it upbeat.

Harry shrugged in response, not seeming able to summon enough energy to speak or even to turn and look at him. Hermione didn't even look up.

"How about a bit of a slap and tickle, then?" He knew his face was red and he didn't care. He'd do anything for a response.

He didn't even hear Hermione's shocked "Ron!" because Harry's head jerked around, a million emotions racing across his face. Ron met his gaze and grinned. He could only hope that Harry solely saw the cheekiness and not the desperation that was roiling in his stomach.

They stared at each other for an eternal moment until a snort burst out of Harry against his will. Suddenly he was laughing, tears streaming down his face. Ron felt every muscle in his body loosen and he was laughing too, laughing so hard that he was sure his stomach was going to come right up out of his mouth.

He wiped his eyes and looked at Hermione. "Boys," she muttered with a roll of her eyes but she was smiling like she hadn't in a long time.

Ron woke with a start, laughter caught in his throat. The room slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Everything was quiet except for the branch that occasionally scratched at the window. He could feel Hermione's warmth from where she was curled up on the other side of the bed.

His eyes burned and he turned over. He stared at the wall, his eyes tracking what he could make out of the patterns in the grain of the wood from the dim light that came in from the lamps on Diagon. He laid like that until the room started to lighten and Hermione began to stir, his eyes open and dry.

~~~

He knew the minute they stepped into the Burrow that it had been a mistake to come. It was bright and crowded with people and voices and laughter; they descended on him and all he could do was stand and hold tight to Hermione's hand until she was bustled off to the kitchen. Ron was left there feeling awkward and alone.

"Ronniekins!" George's voice cut through the noise. A strong arm was clapped over his shoulders and before he could react he was being maneuvered deeper into the room.

"Not so ickle anymore, is he lads?" George commented cheerfully as they swerved around a knot of what appeared to be Ministry officials and came up to where Fred and Lee Jordan, of all people, were talking in the corner.

"Oi, leave him be, ya nimrod. Looks like a rabbit that's about to bolt. All big eyes and twitching." Fred grinned and affectionately punched Ron in the shoulder.

"You are still the biggest twats I've ever met," Ron grumbled, rubbing at the bruise already forming on his arm.

"Aawww, there's the little brother we know and love," George saccharinely gushed and ruffled Ron's hair. Secret looks passed between his older brothers and Ron scowled. He'd always hated that blasted private language of their's.

"Now boys, no trying out new products on your brother," Arthur's voice jovially broke in. He appeared from behind some straggly plant that was left over from Ginny's week long adolescent experiment in horticulture. His smile was the same that it had always been, wide and thoroughly amused with everything around him, inviting everyone to share in some joke or amusement only he could see.

Fred and George snickered. "We'd never dream of turning our favoritest baby brother's hair bright green," George declared with wide, innocent eyes.

"Bastard." It was Ron's turn to leave a bruise on George's arm. Fred elbowed his twin from the other side, ignoring George's aggrieved yelp. "You told me you'd brought the pink ones."

"I did," George smirked, absently rubbing his arm. "But his hair's nearly pink as it is. Green's much more dramatic."

"That's enough now," Arthur said sternly though the twinkle in his eye rather diminished the attempt at severity. "I'd like a moment to talk with your brother, if you wouldn't mind."

A strange, serious look passed between father and sons. Ron felt his stomach tighten in response and he couldn't tell whether it was from anger or fear.

"Course Da," George replied with a wink that wasn't nearly as jolly as it was meant to look. He and Fred draped their arms around a bemused Lee and dragged him away.

Arthur locked eyes with Ron, his gaze sober and concerned. Ron could feel every nerve vibrating and knew absolutely that he didn't want to hear what was about to be said. He felt as if he were going to be sick to his stomach.

"Ron, son, your mother and I-" Arthur cleared his throat and Ron shrugged uncomfortably, suddenly fascinated by his shoes. "Your mother and I have spoken and we're concerned for you."

Ron gulped. "Yeah."

"I know you've been missing work and there's only so much more leeway I can give you." Arthur's voice was tense and sad, the same sort of voice he had used once when discussing Percy, back before Percy had made a hero of himself in his own stubborn, facetious way. Ron shrank in on himself. He had never wanted to cause his dad to use that particular type of tone.

"Dad," he choked, his hand coming up to grip the one that was already resting on his shoulder. There were a million things he wanted to say, a million emotions that were bubbling up to the surface. He'd do anything to make sure that his dad never looked at him like this again.

"There you two are." Molly's voice cut through the moment and Ron flinched, dropping his hand so quickly it was as if it had never been there in the first place. A quick look passed over his father's face, somewhere between resignation and regret.

"Molly, my love." Arthur smiled, a certain subdued tightness around his eyes, and bussed his wife on the cheek. "Dinner smells delicious.

She patted his cheek absently, her attention and sharp gaze fixed completely on her son. Everything within Ron froze. He was captured by his mother's gaze and couldn't look away, couldn't escape no matter how much he wanted to. Molly Weasley had always been a force of nature.

"Your father and I only want what's best for you, Ronald," Molly started in like a river escaping its bounds, as if they had already been having this conversation and had been rudely interrupted. "We know that you have had some difficult times but you simply cannot continue on the way you've been going."

Ron's lungs tightened. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, trapped by memory and conditioning and love. He could feel something hot and relentless inside him begin to escape the wards he had so carefully erected to contain it and he couldn't do anything to shore them back up into place.

Molly continued on, heedless of the way her son's face had changed, freckles standing out in sharp relief against the blanched paleness of his skin. "If you won't consider what you're doing to your own life then you must think about what you're doing to Hermione. She deserves better than this. Harry," Arthur placed his hand on her shoulder, interrupting her briefly with a whispered, "Molly." But she patted his hand absently and continued on, unabated. "Harry would never have wanted to see you throw your life away. You must-"

Whiteness exploded in Ron's vision and he couldn't hear anything but a wasp-like buzzing growing louder and louder in his ears.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he screamed, his eyes closed tight and his hands raised to cover his ears.

He lowered his hands with an angry gesture. An explosion sounded somewhere out of sight that he didn't notice and wouldn't have cared about if he had. All he could see was his mother's face. She wore an expression unlike any that he had ever seen before, wide-eyed and open-mouthed and completely, utterly still. "You don't get to talk about him," Ron rasped fiercely. "You don't get to tell me what he wants because he's dead and none of this is worth that. None of this matters anymore, nothing!"

"Ron." Hermione's gasp cut through every sound and thought. He stopped cold and turned. She and Ginny were standing side by side, haloed in the evening light that filtered in through the shattered wall and reflected off of the plaster floating in the air. Ginny's mouth was tight, her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrow but Ron hardly noticed his sister, all he could see was Hermione, the stricken blankness of her face and the look she wore. It was worse than her grief at Harry's funeral, worse than any look he had ever seen her wear and she wore it because of him.

"Hermione, I-" His voice gave out. He didn't know what to say, how to make any of it better. He had to go, he had to get away, he couldn't do this anymore.

He flicked the wand he hadn't even realized he was holding and disapparated.

~~~

Ron stared around himself in shock. He had no idea where he was. The sun was bright, too bright, and the buildings didn't look like anything he knew. People of all types surrounded him speaking in languages and accents he couldn't decipher. The air was fragrant with the scent of the ocean mingled with thousands of other things that he couldn't even begin to name.

He smiled a little and stepped further into the crowd flowing down the street. This would do for now.

Soon he was lost to view.

~~~


End file.
